


I Don't Like You or Your Band

by penguinated



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguinated/pseuds/penguinated
Summary: Reader is a music journalist, and a very popular one at that. She knew Deaky when they were teenagers. She’s written a pretty harsh piece about Queen. Based off the song of the same name by Kate Rhudy.
Relationships: John Deacon & Reader, John Deacon/Original Female Character(s), John Deacon/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	I Don't Like You or Your Band

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on my tumblr. Hopefully I'm gonna put more of those fics on here.

_ Your cigarettes, your leather shoes _

_ You, your friends, and your middle class white boy blues _

_ You’ve become something I can’t stand _

_ Don’t even miss holdin’ your hand _

_ And I don’t like you or your band _

**Monday** \-  _ I was in love with a good, good man  _

He was kissing you. Shy and sloppy, reflecting the innocence of the moment. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, hands shaking. He went to do the same, his fingers tracing the hem of your sweater. It was soft and pink, as virginal as you were. 

Your eyes snapped open. A tear leaked out and slid down your cheek. Why were you dreaming this now? Then you remembered. The Queen article was going out today. It was scathing. The thought made you nervous. Would the band see it? Would  _ he _ see it? Did you care if he did?

You wiped your face and got up. You put on a simple dress and heels, pushing all thoughts of your past to the back of your mind. You didn’t want to think about him now. You didn’t want to think about him at all, really. 

As you walked into you office, you said hello to the receptionist as you made your way to your empty desk. You usually had a copy of the week’s issue waiting for you, before they hit the shelves. Your brow furrowed.

“Y/N,” said your editor, Charles, as he sauntered over to you. “You ready for today’s issue?”

He waved the magazine in front of you before letting it fall onto your desk with a slap. Queen was spread across the front page. You looked away.

You nodded at Charles, resolving yourself to your pride in your work. Your history with John Deacon was irrelevant. In fact, you had not even disclosed it to Charles - or anyone - because you felt that it mattered that little. 

“Hey, you’re from the same town as the bass player, right?” Charles asked.

A nervous twinge went through you. “Um, yeah.”

“Did you know him?” 

“No,” you lied. “No, not really.”

***

“This is shit!” Roger cried, throwing down the magazine as he entered the studio. “Have you all read this review?”

“Oh, God, what is it now?” Freddie wondered, rolling his eyes. 

“Listen,” Roger said irritably. “‘ _ Queen is a band with talent that could best be described as above average. Their most redeeming quality is their frontman, Freddie Mercury, but even his eccentric style and quality vocals can’t make up for the fact that they’re just another wannabe Zeppelin. Only they don’t have half the lyrical depth or musical skill. _ ’ What the fuck?!”

“Who’s the author?” Brian wondered.

“She’s a really well-known reporter,” Roger said. “She did that whole profile on Elton John last year that everyone loved. Y/N Y/L/N.”

John choked on the sip of water he was taking, and the other three turned eyes on him.

“Do you know her?” Freddie asked.

John coughed for a moment and had to catch his breath. “Yes.”

They all still stared at him. He cleared his throat. “What?”

“How do you know her?” Roger asked.

“We sort of went out when we were in school,” John explained. “I guess you could say she was my first real girlfriend.”

“Well - Christ, Deaks, what’d you do to her?” Roger wondered.

“Nothing!” John insisted. “I mean - I suppose we - well, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Could you speak in complete sentences?” Brian asked cheekily. “So the rest of us might keep up?”

John ran a hand down his face and groaned. He mumbled something that the others couldn’t hear.

“Deaky, just tell us!” Roger cried.

“We were each other’s first times!” he finally came out with. “We were seventeen and it was weird and then I fucked off to London shortly after.”

Freddie burst into giggles. Roger sighed and Brian rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you just ring her and apologize?” Roger suggested. “Maybe she’ll take back what she said.”

“Oh, come on,” John returned. “That article couldn’t possibly be a reaction to something that happened years ago. It’s probably just her honest opinion.”

“There’s no way that’s her opinion because the album isn’t shit and we’re not Zeppelin wannabes,” Roger insisted. “If anything, we also have an influence from Yes.”

“Which she also mentions,” Brian interjected, looking at the article again. “She really knows her stuff. Even if she is wrong about us.”

“If she really knew her stuff, she wouldn’t be wrong about us,” Roger said stubbornly. 

“That gives me an idea,” Freddie said.

They all looked curiously at him.

“What is it?” Brian asked.

“Let’s invite her here,” Freddie said. “Let her see how our work comes together and how original we are. That is, if it isn’t too uncomfortable for you, Deaky, dear.”

“Look, it wasn’t like I left without saying anything,” John further explained. “We had a normal breakup, I thought.”

“Great!” Freddie said with an excited clap. “It’s decided! She’ll join us for the week!”

“Hold on, nothing is decided!” Roger argued, but Freddie was already gone to use the phone. “Well, I’m not going to be nice to her.”

“She wasn’t very nice to us first,” Brian said as if that settled the matter.

***

You were going through some papers on your desk as preliminary work for your next article. Your phone rang and you picked it up lazily.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you answered.

“Ah, Miss Y/L/N,” said a strangely familiar voice on the other end. “This is Freddie Mercury.”

A chill ran down your spine and your heart nearly stopped. “What?”

“We’ve read your piece on our music, and I must say, darling, we believe you’re mistaken,” he said. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Look, Mr. Mercury,” you said, finding your voice again. “I was just doing my job. If you don’t like what I say, that’s your problem. At this point, Queen should be used to bad press.”

It was a low blow, but you didn’t care. Freddie only snickered.

“I like you, darling,” he said. “You’re feisty. But I’m about to make you an exclusive offer.”

“I’m listening.”

He arranged to meet you at a cafe between your office and their studio. You told Charles about the call.

“Y/N, are you serious?” he gasped.

“Do you want me to cancel?” you asked, concerned by his tone.

“Hello no!” he cried. “Take the meeting, and whatever exclusive they’re offering you. Find out everything you can about them. Dig up the dirt. Find me something we can use to take them down.”

“Take them down?” you wondered. “I don’t want to make shit up about them.”

“You won’t have to,” he said. “But get me something.”

“I’ll do my best,” you said warily.

“That’s a good girl.”

You clenched your teeth as you left the office. You hated when men talked to you like that. You were a grown woman, out on her own. You were not a little girl who needed the approval of anyone, especially not a man. 

You went to the cafe where Freddie asked to meet. You spotted the band right away. Brian’s fluffy curls gave them away, but you first noticed John. He looked quite different with his long hair and fancy clothes. But he was still John. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. You loved the John you knew dearly. But he also hurt you. 

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N,” Freddie said, getting to his feet and shaking your hand. The others offered you no such courtesy. 

“I am,” you said. “Obviously, I know who all of your are.”

“Obviously,” Freddie said slowly, with a mischievous grin. “We wanted to talk to you about your article and offer an opportunity to...correct it.”

You frowned. “It doesn’t need correcting. The appeal of music is entirely subjective. Not everyone is going to think you’re the greatest band to walk the earth.”

“There’s no need to get defensive,” he said. “Especially since you haven’t heard our offer.”

“Well, make it then,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“She’s right to business,” he remarked. “I like it.”

“You wanna make an arrangement or do you wanna fuck around?”

He laughed. It was charming in its own way. You tried not to let it infect you, but you felt the corners of your mouth nearly twitch. It didn’t help that you were ignoring John’s intense gaze. 

“Spend the week in the studio with us,” he said. “See what we do. How we put our  _ unique _ sound together. I guarantee you’ll change your mind.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him and then gestured to the rest of the band. “And you’re all on board with this?”

You scanned them. Roger glowered at the ground and didn’t answer. Brian nodded stiffly. Finally, you met John’s eyes. It took him a moment to respond, but when he opened his mouth, Freddie spoke. 

“Deaky told us you’re old friends,” he said. 

You weren’t looking at him, but you could feel his smirk. You continued to look at John and your gaze hardened. 

“Oh?” you said coldly. “I don’t recall.”

You cut away from his stare, but you saw his mouth drop a little before he quickly closed it again. Your eyes found Freddie’s, and laughter danced behind them. 

“What do you say?” he asked, ignoring his clear urge to take a dig at his friend. “One full week behind the scenes with Queen. And you’ll write a new story.”

“What if my opinion stays the same?” you challenged. 

“You write it exactly how you see it,” he said. “If you don’t change your mind - although I’m sure you will, darling - you can write even more about how terrible we are.”

“You’re awfully confident,” you replied. 

He shrugged. “Take it or leave it, love.”

“I’ll take it,” you said. “But just so you know, everything is on the record.”

“We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With the deal in place, you went with them to the studio. You walked there right from the cafe since you had your notepad in your bag. You followed behind them, but John dropped back to walk beside you. You resisted rolling your eyes. 

“Y/N,” he said. “It’s - uh - good to see you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” you returned, not looking at him. 

He grabbed your arm and yanked you to a stop. You glared at him and wrenched yourself free. 

“What’s up with you?” he demanded quietly so the other guys wouldn’t hear. “I thought our relationship was meaningful...that we still cared about each other.”

“You did?” you spat. “Well, imagine my surprise.”

He blinked. “What did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do,” you said. “Everything you fucking forgot when you left home, including me.”

“I never forgot you,” he insisted. 

“You could have fooled me,” you bit back. 

He looked away, clearly stung. You didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. 

“Is that why you wrote those things about Queen?” he asked. 

You laughed humorlessly. “Oh, please. You’re not important enough to be my reason to write anything.”

With that, you jogged ahead, away from him. You made a silent vow to yourself that you would not go there again with him. That from here on out, you would keep everything professional. There was no need to face what had happened. That was behind you. And you weren’t going that way. 

The first day with the band went smoothly. You didn’t interact very much with them, just quietly observing them from the booth. You had to admit they worked hard, overcame small disputes, and were experimental. 

You noticed your eyes lingering on John throughout rehearsal. His face looked the same as it used to when he was concentrating on learning a new line for a song. He looked natural behind the bass, and for a moment, you forgot you were angry at him. It was like the old days, when he was with The Opposition, and you were just a young girl with doe eyes, and he was the rock star of your heart. 

You shook your head to clear it. No. It would never be that way again. You knew only too well how that story ended. 

**Tuesday** \-  _ You left me unamused and unimpressed  _

The next day, you skipped going to your office entirely. You had called Charles from the studio and explained what they had offered, and you were pretty sure you heard him cry on the other end of the line. He again reminded you to find something “juicy” while you insisted you would still only report the truth. You could picture the way he rolled his eyes when he sighed at you. 

“Must you be so annoyingly ethical?” he wondered.

“I’m a journalist, Charles, not a gossip columnist,” you returned, and hung up the phone.

So on Tuesday morning, you came straight into the studio. You heard voices in the booth. Knowing them to be the band’s, you stopped and listened. Since they didn’t know you were there, this was obviously off the record, but you were just curious.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you ever saw in her,” Roger said.

“She didn’t used to be…” John trailed off.

“Such a bitch?” Roger finished.

“I guess so,” John agreed. “When I knew her she was honestly the sweetest person I’d ever met. A really lovely girl.”

“Are sure it’s the same Y/N Y/L/N?” Brian joked.

They all snickered. 

“Well, she mostly looks the same,” John said.

“I will give you that she’s a looker,” Roger said. “But it’s hard to believe that woman was ever a ‘really lovely girl.’” 

“She was,” John insisted. “Really, she was. Her nickname in school was Judy because she reminded everyone of Judy Garland.”

Just hearing that endearment again - especially from John’s lips - drove a knife through your heart and twisted it.

“Judy Garland?” Roger returned, incredulous. “Are you joking?”

You decided to walk in now, lest this conversation go further into John’s memory of a girl that no longer existed. 

“Morning, gents,” you said coolly. 

Roger groaned, departed to the studio, and started fiddling with his drum set. He left the door open, but the rest of the band did not follow him just yet. Freddie looked at you.

“Sorry about him,” he said.

You shrugged. “I don’t care that he doesn’t like me. I don’t need anyone’s approval. Especially not some Cornish pixie drummer boy.”

Roger froze, dropping a drumstick, and scowled at you. Freddie cackled. John clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Even Brian let out a small chuckle. You just stared Roger down, cocking a challenging eyebrow at him. He said nothing, but he did flip you off through the window. You rolled your eyes and took a seat on the couch.

Brian joined Roger in the studio, picking up his guitar and slinging it across his body as he began tuning it. You watched how careful he was. Roger was too. They were meticulous about sounding exactly right. You observed this the previous day as well but thought they were just doing that because you were there. Clearly, this was their normal routine. You were just barely impressed. 

They started playing through a song, but quickly began bickering about tempo. Roger accused Brian of going too slow, whereas Brian thought that was appropriate for the song. Voices were raised, insults were tossed, glares were exchanged. Freddie was giggling as he watched from the booth. John kept glancing at you, but you resolutely ignored him. 

“Darlings, darlings,” Freddie said to Roger and Brian. “Please. We can settle this. Deaky, what do you think? Roger’s tempo or Brian’s?”

“Roger,” John said. 

“Of course you side with him,” Brian snapped, rolling his eyes. 

“Christ, Brian, it’s not personal,” John argued. 

“Yeah, it’s because I’m right,” Roger added.

“I happen to side with you, Brian, dear,” Freddie interjected before it could escalate again. “So it’s a tie.”

“We don’t have a tie breaker,” John said. 

Freddie smirked. “Sure we do. Y/N.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “What?”

“What do you think, darling?” he asked. “Brian or Roger?”

“I have no opinion,” you said flatly. 

“We all know that’s not true,” he returned. 

“This is all very democratic of you,” you said with a sigh. “But if I participated in the making of the music I’m supposed to be evaluating, wouldn’t that create a conflict of interest?” 

“Don’t be difficult, Y/N, just tell us what you think,” John said shortly. 

You shot him a glare. “No.”

“Why should she decide?” Roger chimed in. “She doesn’t even like our music.”

“All the more reason to believe she’s being honest,” Freddie pointed out. 

“Or just petty,” Roger muttered. 

“Did you even hear what she just said?” Freddie said. “She’s got principles.”

“I have been described as annoyingly ethical,” you said. 

“Principles be damned, I don’t give a shit what she thinks,” Roger said. 

You shrugged.

Freddie turned to you. “Just for fun. Off the record. Who do you think is right?”

“Off the record,” you repeated firmly. “Roger is right.” 

Roger threw you a surprised look before a smug smile claimed his face. He looked triumphantly at Brian. 

“What happened to not giving a shit what she thinks?” Brian spat. 

“My opinion doesn’t count,” you reminded them. “It’s still a tie.”

Roger frowned. “Who was it that described you as annoyingly ethical?”

“My boss.”

“Smart man.”

“Look, let’s just count Y/N’s vote so we can move on,” John suggested. 

“No,” you said. “You can’t.”

“Don’t worry, it was off the record,” Freddie said. “No one will know.” 

“We’ll know,” you argued. 

“And we shall all take it to the grave with us,” John said sarcastically. “Lest you be known as a music reviewer with a bloody opinion.”

“Oh, fuck y-” you began, but Freddie cut you off. 

“Roger wins the popular vote,” he said. “Deaky, get in there and help them out.”

Your eyes bored hatred into John’s back as he entered the studio. You slumped back onto the couch, feeling a bit like a pouting child as you continued to observe them. John’s mouth was drawn downward as he grabbed his bass roughly. He licked his fingers before plucking at the strings. A motion that almost made you gasp. It was...sexy. You shook your head and crossed your legs with a huff. 

You spent the rest of the day scratching your notes down harshly, lips pressed together with irritation. As they finished up, you started to put away your pen and paper. You slung your purse onto your shoulder and started to head out when your pocket knife slipped out of your bag and onto the floor. You reached down to pick it up, but John beat you to it. You snatched it out of his hand without even thanking him and stuffed it into your bag. 

“Why are you carrying that?” he asked. 

“Experience taught me I had to,” you replied. 

“Experience?”

“I got fucking robbed, John, what do you want from me?”

“When?!” he wondered, eyes going wide. 

“My first day in London,” you told him, unsure where this honesty was coming from. 

You didn’t tell him that they man who did it made you strip, taking everything you had on you including your address book and money, so you shivered naked in an alley until a kind restaurant owner came out, saw the pathetic state you were in, and took you inside. She gave you a spare uniform and then offered you a job and a place at her flat until you could pay her back. Which you did in full. You also didn’t tell him you had only come to London looking for him.

His eyes searched yours. He found a hurt there that was bone deep. You were like a wounded dog, whimpering for a helping hand but prepared to bite the first one that touched you. Your glare was like bared fangs. Still, a part of him ached to reach out and risk you sinking your teeth in. 

“That’s terrible,” he said, knowing exactly how lame it sounded. 

You held his gaze. “I’ve been through worse.”

With that, you left the studio. John sighed and looked at the floor.

“She’s awfully cryptic, isn’t she?” Brian remarked.

“She’s so angry,” John said, half to himself. 

“Forget about her,” Roger said, clapping John’s shoulder. “Let’s get a drink, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

Meanwhile, you walked to the pub you usually patronized in the evenings after work. It was actually the place you had worked after that first horrific night. The owner was still there and tended the bar on weeknights, so you went to see her. She always offered you a drink for free, but you never took it. She had already done too much for you.

“Y/N!” she called as you came through the door.

You beamed at her. “Cora!” You came around the bar to embrace her. “How are you?”

“I’m just fine for an old lady,” she replied. “How are you, my dear?”

You sighed, unsure how to answer her.

“I know that face,” she said. “You’re in need of a drink and conversation.”

“The drink I could use,” you replied. “The conversation, I’m not so sure about.”

She poured you your favorite, gin and tonic. You took a sip and thanked her.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’, just gotta pop in the back and get some wine glasses,” she said.

You stood up. “I’ll get them, Cora.”

“You don’t work here anymore, love,” she said with a grateful laugh.

“I’ll always take care of you,” you returned. “Besides, the doctor said you shouldn’t strain your back.”

You set your drink on the bar and then headed into the dish pit. 

While you were in the back, Freddie, Brian, Roger, and John walked in. They took seats at the bar, leaving a few chairs between themselves and where your bag and drink sat. John thought it was yours, but wasn’t quite sure. Cora walked over to them and took their drink orders. You emerged again, carrying the rack of glasses and groaned when you spotted the band. Still, you brought the dishes behind the bar.

“Oh, Y/N,” said Freddie. “Do you work here too?”

“What, writing rubbish about music not paying the bills?” Roger jabbed.

“Piss off, Roger,” you snapped. “I don’t work here, but I used to.”

“Are these friends of yours, Y/N?” Cora wondered, eyes flickering between you and the band.

“Cora, this is Queen,” you said gently. “I’m re-evaluating them.”

She released a delighted giggle and clapped her hands. “Oh, my! Well, it’s not every day we have real rock stars in our little pub! Welcome, lads!”

“Thank you, darling,” said Freddie.

Cora just grinned widely at him. A warm smile danced across your lips as you took in her excitement. John’s eyes landed on you and he saw, for a fleeting moment, the girl he knew. But at that moment, a man approached you and asked you to join him at his table. You agreed, wiggling your fingers at Cora as she watched you cross the room. 

“You two seem very close,” Brian said casually. “How long did she work here?”

“Just over a year, actually,” Cora said. “But she lived with me too.”

“How did that happen?” John wondered.

“Well, I found her right outside this building,” she explained. She told them all how she found you, to their shock. Even Roger felt pretty sorry for you.

“I couldn’t just leave her out there, shivering and alone,” she continued. “My Christian heart wouldn’t let me. So I took her in. But she took care of herself really once she started to make some money. I know she did some...unsavory things to earn the extra. I offered to help her, but she refused to take even one penny from me.” 

“Why didn’t she just go home?” Roger asked.

Cora shrugged. “She said - and I’ll never forget the words she used - ‘I came to London looking for someone. He’s lost, so I’ll find myself instead.’ Seemed quite poetic to me. I knew from there she’d be a writer.”

“Did she ever tell you who it was she was looking for?” Freddie asked, glancing at John.

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “She refused to speak of him. Some chap from her hometown, though, that’s all I knew.”

At that moment, you came back over to tell Cora goodbye, since you were leaving with the man from before. You kissed her cheek before turning to the band.

“See you lot in the morning, I suppose,” you said.

They gave you odd looks, but you pushed your confusion away. You left with David, heading back to your flat, which wasn’t far from the bar. But as you took David up the stairs to your front door, the look in John’s eyes haunted you. Something like pity swam behind them. Pity mixed with guilt. It infuriated you.

Then David’s chapped lips were on yours, cracked and unpleasant. He shoved his talentless tongue into your mouth as he pushed you gently onto your bed. You bunched your skirt up to your hips so he could tug your panties off, but he stopped.

“Would you suck me off first?” he asked.

You smirked. “You wanna keep your cock?”

“W-what?”

“If you wanna keep your cock, keep it the fuck out of my face,” you warned.

“Shit, alright,” he gasped.

“Now take my knickers off and fuck me.”

He obeyed, pulling his pants down to his ankles. You weren’t quite wet enough so it stung a little when he pushed into you, but you bit your lip through it. Only, his fucking was as awkward as his kissing. His thrusts were sloppy, and he failed to even graze your g-spot. Your clit, he completely ignored. He clearly thought he was doing great from the noises coming out of his mouth. Gasps and groans, and some semblance of dirty talk that you didn’t even hear. You sighed, exasperated, and pushed him off of you.

“You’re shit,” you said. “Get out.”

“What the fuck?!” he cried breathlessly.

“Get your pants on and get out of my house,” you ordered. 

“I’m still hard,” he complained.

“That’s not my problem,” you returned. 

He narrowed his eyes at you and scrambled off the bed. He tucked himself into his trousers and glared at you as he put his shoes back on.

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

You grimaced at him. “So I’ve heard. Bye now.”

He muttered under his breath some more as he left, slamming the door behind him. You got up and followed, locking the door just in case. Then you returned to your bed. Flopping onto your back, your mind showed you John’s eyes again. You remembered kissing John all those years ago. The ways his eyes looked the first time you’d kissed him. 

You pictured John now. Different, but much the same. More talented, less awkward. You remembered him licking those fingers of his before playing his bass. His mouth in a slight pout as he focused. Your skin felt hot. Your lower stomach churned with desire. You dipped your finger between your thighs and pressed onto your clit.

“John…” you sighed.

**Wednesday** \-  _ What a shame it is that the rock I thought you were turned out to be sand _

You arrived to the studio early the next morning. It was raining heavily as thunder rolled in the distance. Cosmically, John was the only other person there. You didn’t let the fact that you’d gotten off to the thought of him throw you. You just took your seat on the couch, ringing out your hair, and waited in silence with him. You pulled out the book you were reading and dove in. The only sound was the patter of the rain on the roof.

“Why didn’t you tell me what happened to you when you came to London?” he asked suddenly.

You snapped the book shut and looked at him icily. “I didn’t realize that was any of your business.”

“I know you’re not this person,” he said. “When you looked at Cora yesterday, you were yourself again.”

“You don’t know anything about who I am, John Deacon,” you said. “A lot has changed since we left Oadby.” 

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“You’re assuming you have a right to an answer.”

“I think I do have a right,” he said hotly. “A lot of this anger you’ve got is clearly directed at me. Maybe if you stopped biting everyone’s head off and talked about it, you wouldn’t be so pissed off.”

There was that look again. The pity guilt combination that made your stomach roil. 

“Fine,” you snipped. “You wanna know what happened to me? Yes, I got robbed and left naked behind a building. I took a job as a waitress to scrape by and pay back a fraction of debt I owed Cora. And there were a few regulars at the bar who I fucked for money. Anything else?”

“How’d you get a writing position?” he asked levelly.

“One of the regulars introduced me to an editor friend of his,” you said. “I submitted my first article to him, and he took me on. I got better and was eventually offered the job I’ve got now.”

“Okay, how is any of this my fault?” 

“Is that what you think?” you laughed. “I don’t blame you for any of that shit. You weren’t even in my life anymore.”

“Then why are you so angry at me?!” he demanded, getting to his feet.

You jumped up too. “I’m angry at you because you lied to me!”

“What?!”

“You did!” you cried. “You broke up with me, and it broke my heart. But it was okay because we were supposed to be friends. And yet I was the only one who made any effort. Then suddenly you were off to London and then I never heard a thing from you! And I wrote you every day! Every day until I came here looking for you! And you promised you’d write to me, John!” You choked on his name as your throat got thick with the old wound. 

“You promised,” you repeated with childish stubbornness. 

“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. 

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want from me, John? My forgiveness?”

“Well, it was only letters,” he said.

“Only letters?” you repeated quietly. “John, it’s not about the letters. It’s the fact that you didn’t give enough of a shit about me to pick up a goddamn pen. Our relationship meant that little to you.  _ I _ meant that little to you.”

You had scarcely gotten the words out when Roger and Brian walked in, both rain soaked, and flicking water off their coats. They were already quarrelling about something regarding the song again. You and John turned eyes on them.

“Y/N, what do you think, off the record -” Roger began, but you cut him off.

“Oh, no,” you said. “I’m not falling for that again.”

“Damn, I don’t know how else I’m gonna win this one,” he muttered.

You giggled. All eyes fell on you as you clapped a hand over your mouth.

“Y/N, did you just laugh?” Roger asked, a smile on his face.

“No,” you insisted, but the corners of your mouth were still turned slightly up. 

“I think she did,” Brian added. 

“Could it be that there’s a real, human heart in that chest?” Roger continued. “I thought it was just a hunk of ice.”

“Shut up,” you said through another laugh, but they let you have that one. 

“Is Fred here yet?” Brian asked John.

John shook his head. “Late, as usual.”

You and John locked eyes briefly before you started getting out your pen and paper again. Freddie arrived within a few minutes, and they got right to work. You did actually admire their focus and professionalism. They took their craft seriously. More seriously than most musicians you had met. And you had met a great deal of them.

Today they had fewer arguments. It seemed that the rain was making everyone too tired to fight. That was more than okay with you. You couldn’t stand the bickering, especially between Brian and Roger. You wondered how they were the founders of the band since they rarely seemed to agree on a concept for a song. It was maddening to listen to.

John was stuck somewhere between staring intensely at you or avoiding you like the plague. The conversation from before was not a comfortable one, and it was so clearly unfinished. Unsaid words hung between you like clothes on a line. When your eyes did meet, it was like stepping onto a balance beam. You were unsteady and wobbly, but clinging to the very thing that put you there.

By the afternoon, you heard a rough run through of a new song. You would never, ever tell them this, but you liked it.

When the day was over, you packed up your things and for the first time, the band said goodbye to you. Roger only offered a wave, while Brian and Freddie said the words. John actually asked if he could walk you out.

“I can get to the door myself, thanks,” you said.

You weren’t sure where you two stood after the morning’s conversation. You feared another emotional line of questioning. 

“Please,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Alright, then.”

You walked down the hall together, but he was behaving strangely. He kept glancing into every doorway you passed, and would sigh when there were people inside. When you reached the end of the corridor, he pulled open the door to what appeared to be a closet. He took another quick look around before pushing you inside.

“John, what the hell?!” you demanded as he shut the door.

“I want to speak in private,” he said.

He reached up and pulled the string to turn the light on. It was a tight space. Your bodies were pressed together, chest to chest. It made heat rise in your cheeks to be so close to him. You looked up to meet his eyes. When had he gotten so tall?

John swallowed as he looked down at you. The feeling of your breasts against him was enough to drive him crazy.

“I still feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” he said, focusing on your face.

He was so close you could feel his breath on your face.

“I don’t have to tell you everything,” you returned.

“Y/N, please,” he groaned. “We were going so well this morning.”

“Well?” you questioned. 

“Yes, you were opening up,” he said. “You’d softened to the point where you laughed.”

You sighed. “That was a fluke.”

“Come on, Y/N,” he said. “Tell me one thing.”

“What do you want to know?”

“After you had some money, why didn’t you go back home?” he wondered. “Why put yourself through all of this? You could have been back with you mum -”

“She left, John,” you said. “She left me in the middle of the night.”

John knew already that your father was not in your life. You and your mother were on your own back in Oadby. She had made quite a life for herself and seemed devoted to you. This revelation clearly shocked John, as he would have stumbled backward had there been space to do so.

“She left you?” 

You nodded. “Yes. She left a note that said she couldn’t do ‘this’ anymore and she was leaving, but she knew I would be okay. I started to write you, but you hadn’t been answering my letters, so I took the money she left me and came looking for you. Because I needed my friend. I needed you, John.”

Emotion threatened to overwhelm you again. This was something you had never told anyone. Not even Cora. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I left you in the dark...I’m so, so sorry.”

“Just tell me why,” you breathed back.

“Because I missed you so much,” he told you. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “If you missed me, why would you ignore me?”

“I couldn’t ask you to be with me again,” he said. “It wasn’t fair.”

“Elaborate on that.”

“I wasn’t sure that I was going to be successful,” he said. “I didn’t know if I wanted to have a career in electronics, and music was still something so unsteady. All I wanted was to be with you again, but I didn’t want you to give up home and security. I didn’t think I was worth it.”

“So you thought the solution was to just shut me out?” you said. “Without even telling me why?”

A tear slid down your cheek, catching you by surprise. Gently, John brought his thumb to your face and wiped it away. The feeling of his touch made goosebumps erupt over your skin and sent a shiver down your spine. And yet, anger sat on your stomach. 

“That is a piss poor excuse, John,” you spat.

“I was a kid,” he argued.

“We’re the same age, and I knew better,” you said. 

“I said I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

You held his gaze for a moment. You didn’t know what else he could do either. Your feelings weren’t clear to yourself. You weren’t sure you were at a place where you could forgive him. As you looked into his eyes, you wanted to. You desperately wanted to. His eyes flicked down to your lips. Slowly, he began to lean forward. Your heart hammered against your chest and cheeks warmed as he inched closer. You were suddenly absurdly aware of his hand on your face. His eyes began to close and you pressed your hand to his chest.

“John, wait,” you said, sounding even less sure than you felt. 

He opened his eyes and looked at you questioningly.

“I can’t do this,” you told him. “I don’t know how I feel about you.”

His hand trailed down to your neck, his fingers grazing your sensitive skin. You sucked in a breath. He noticed, but he let you off the hook.

“I know how I feel about you,” he said. “I don’t like the ice queen we met earlier this week. But the woman you are beneath that is someone I’d like to know again.”

He pressed his lips to your cheek and you closed your eyes at the contact. When you opened them again, he was pushed the door to the closet open. He offered his hand so he could help you out. You accepted, needing the balance to step over all the items on the floor. As you headed to the front of the building, you said nothing else to each other. When you reached the door, you faced him again.

“Have a good evening, John,” you said.

“You too, Y/N,” he replied.

He gave you hand a small squeeze and then left. You took a deep breath and went out the door. The sun shone. The sky had cleared.

**Thursday** \-  _ Maybe you should get your shit together _

You sat in the studio taking notes, your eyes flicking between your notebook and John. He occasionally looked back at you, in which case you would look sharply away. You had to bite your lip to keep from smirking. You couldn’t tell if he noticed or not. 

You were a little embarrassed at how quickly the band hand begun to sway your opinion. You usually considered your opinion resolute. Perhaps it was growth that you could change your mind. About Queen, and the desires of your own heart.

Suddenly, Charles walked in. He was carrying your notepads from the last three days and looking livid. He waved them in your face. You shot him a confused and offended look. 

“What?” you snapped. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re damn right there’s a problem!” he cried. “Is this really all you’ve got from the last three days?”

“That’s three notepads full,” you replied. “You really think I’m keeping stuff from you?”

“Do not sass me, girl!” he shouted. 

Quietly, the band came into the room, though neither you nor Charles noticed, too caught up in the argument to see. 

“ _ Don’t _ call me girl!” you retorted, getting to your feet. 

“Look, I didn’t give you this assignment so you could give me this choir boy version of the band!” he continued. 

“Roger literally does coke on the second day, but yeah, I got choir boys,” you spat. “I’m writing the truth -”

“LISTEN!” he bellowed. “I told you I needed an exposure! Something to fill the headlines! A take down piece! So unless you wanna put some heels on and fuck me for an hour, you better stop acting like a little bitch!”

It was like all the air was sucked out of the room. The words had hardly left his mouth when John tackled him to the ground. He drilled his fist into Charles’s face repeatedly. You watched through teary eyes as John defended you. Blood burst from Charles’s nose as John’s fist made hard contact, over and over again. Charles was resisting weakly, blindsided by this attack. 

“John!” you cried, reaching for him. “Stop! Stop it!”

Brian grabbed your arm to keep you out of it. Freddie and Roger stepped in to drag John off, but he struggled against them. You stared at him, amazed and horrified. Charles got slowly to his feet, shaking as he peeled himself off the floor. He glowered at John, breathing heavily. Then he wiped his bloody face with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“You will be hearing from my lawyer,” he growled. He rounded on you. “And you, little groupie whore, are fired.”

You blinked, letting a tear fall down your cheek, and bit your lip to hold back the sob threatening to escape from your throat. Charles spat on the floor before limping out of the room. Roger flipped him off as he held John back. Freddie just sighed. Brian turned eyes on you.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you choked out. Then you looked at John. “Let him go, guys. I need to speak to him.”

Freddie and Roger released John’s arms. He shrugged them off and followed you out of the booth and down the hall to an unoccupied office. John looked expectantly at you as you turned to face him.

“Close the door, please,” you requested. 

He did. As soon as it clicked shut, you flared up.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you demanded. “We’ve spent all week despising each other and now you’re fighting some guy because he insulted me?! Who are you?! I don’t know where your head is at at any given time! How can you -”

He cut you off with a searing kiss. Your eyes fell shut as his lips moved against yours and you plunged your hands into his hair. It was frenzied and needy, all teeth and tongue. His hands slid over your shoulders before he grabbed your breasts and squeezed. You moaned into his mouth, feeling like you might faint.

He pulled back from your lips to pepper kisses down your neck. He nipped at your soft skin before swirling his tongue around the same spot to soothe it. High, breathy moans fell from your lips as he went. You pressed yourself closer to him and you could feel his hardening cock against your stomach. It sent a powerful jolt of arousal to your core. Your panties dampened.

“Mmm, John,” you sighed.

When you said his name, it fanned the fire in him. He grabbed you roughly, turned you around, and pushed you against the desk. You let out a small squeak of surprise as he bent you over. He yanked your skirt up around your waist, revealing your legs and thong to him. You shivered as the air hit your warm skin. John ran a hand up the back of your thigh, making you tremble with anticipation. He moved his hand away only to bring it back down sharply on your ass. The sound cracked like a whip in the empty room and a guttural moan tore from your throat. It only made you that much wetter. 

“So damn strong willed, Y/N,” John growled into your ear, rubbing your stinging skin. “But this is what you really want, isn’t it? Someone to take care of you?”

You judged yourself a little for the pathetic whine that came out of your mouth. He wrapped his arm around you and dipped his hand into your underwear. Quickly, he ran his fingers up and down your slit, coating them in your wetness. 

“Oh, God,” you moaned as his pointer finger found your clit. 

You took hold of his arm, gripping it tight as the pleasure built. He made light circles on your clit, picking up speed with each rotation. 

“F-fuck, John!” you cried. “Feels so good!”

“I see the way you watch me play,” he teased. “How badly you want these fingers inside you, princess, huh?

“Please, please,  _ please _ ,” you begged. 

His middle finger nudged your entrance. “Fuck, you’re so sexy begging for me.”

Finally, he sank it into you. You groaned and your head slumped forward, lost in the feeling of it. He pumped in and out of you, slowly at first as he curled his finger into your g-spot. The heel of his hand put pressure on your clit and you saw stars. 

“So bloody proud,” he said, kissing your shoulder softly. “But so needy.”

You couldn’t answer him. Your brain couldn’t even form words. His hand was working you right up to your orgasm. When he added a second finger you nearly screamed. 

“M’close,” you mewled. “So close, John - fuck!”

You were clenching around his fingers, hurtling toward the edge. He sped up. You were grateful for the desk beneath you because your legs completely gave out. 

“Go on then,” he encouraged. “Cum for me, princess.”

His permission was all you needed. You came completely undone with a choked cry of his name, riding out your high on his hand. As you came down, your whole body shook. He kept his hand at your center, lazily stroking your folds. 

“Ready for my cock?” he asked, grazing your clit again and making your hips twitch. 

You nodded. 

“Need to hear you say it,” he urged. 

“Yes, please, John,” you whined. “Want you to fuck me…”

You caught your breath as he unzipped his trousers and pulled your thong down to your ankles. You moaned when he pressed his tip against your entrance. All your senses were heightened by the pleasure coursing through you. The head of his cock right at your core, the silky feeling of his shirt against your back, the tickle of the ends of his hair on your cheek. All of it was just John. 

He pushed slowly into you. He was quite big, but you were so wet, he met little resistance. You groaned as he entered. He filled you up, bottoming out inside you and he stopped so you could adjust. 

“You’re so tight,” he hissed. “Fuck.”

“Move, please,” you told him. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. He started at an easy pace, but quickly picked up. He must have been needier than you realized because his cock twitched inside you. So he was close. His finger found your clit again, circling it to the rhythm of his hips. His free hand gripped one of yours, interlocking your fingers. He pounded into you, his tip hitting your g-spot and making you whimper with every thrust. 

“Can I - hng,  _ fuck _ \- can I cum inside you?” he asked breathlessly. 

Just the thought of it made you squeeze around him and he let out the filthiest groan. 

“Yes - oh, God -  _ yes _ ,” you practically sobbed. 

One, two, three more thrusts, and you finished together, his hot cum coating your pulsing walls as he collapsed above you. You were shivering from the intensity of two such rapid orgasms, so his weight warmed and stilled you. He pressed his lips to your shoulders and neck, easing you down before he pulled out. You whimpered at the empty feeling. Then he pulled your underwear back up and readjusted your skirt. There was something touching about him redressing you before tucking himself back into his pants. 

You just barely managed to push yourself off the desk. “John...that was…”

“Sorry I just pounced on you,” he said, looking at the floor. 

“No, don’t apologize,” you said. “You were...you were incredible.”

“I just had to have you,” he replied bashfully. 

You smiled. “John, I’ve never…”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“I’ve never orgasmed from a partner before,” you admitted. 

“What?!” he gasped. “Never?!”

“That’s what I said,” you replied. 

“Even when we - y’know - before?”

You laughed. “John, we were teenagers. No, I didn’t fucking cum. But you certainly made up for it now.”

It was his turn to smile. Then, he took your hand and pulled you close to kiss him. He was softer now. All anger and frustration gone. He rubbed your sides before wrapping his arms around you and just holding you close. 

“Next time, we’ll make love properly,” he said into your hair. 

“There’s going to be a next time?” you questioned. 

“If you’ll let me,” he returned with a smirk. “You proud little thing.”

“I’m not so proud,” you said. “I did just let you bend me over a desk and fuck me.”

He chuckled. You returned to a comfortable silence and holding each other. You dug your fingers into his shirt as he embraced you. You buried your face in his chest. The girl you were - one who was hopeful, sweet, and romantic - was clawing her way out to meet the stronger woman you became. John’s return to your life showed you that they could exist together. His arms around you reminded you that she was a part of you and though you had changed - you both had - she was a remarkable and formative part of your story. 

“I’m sorry again,” he said, pulling away to look in your eyes. “For letting you feel like I didn’t care about you. I thought about you all the time. And when your letters stopped, I hoped that you had found something that made you happy. I have only ever wanted that for you.”

You cupped his face in your hand. “I know that, John. I forgive you.”

“I like this woman, Y/N,” he said. “Who you are. Can we get reacquainted some more over dinner?”

“I would like that very much,” you said with a smile. “And I suppose it’s not a conflict of interest anymore since I’ve been fired.”

“Oh, shit.”

You shrugged. “It’s alright. I’m a good enough writer that I’ll get another job. Plus, I was going to have to eat my words and I really didn’t want to.”

“You were?!”

You nodded. “So thank you, John. You spared me that.”

He only laughed. You kissed him again. 

“Actually, I think I will write the story,” you said. “We had an agreement. I’ll sell the story to another magazine. When the public eats it up, Charles will be sorry.”

He grinned, kissing your forehead. Then you left to go to your dinner date.

**Friday** \-  _ I look pretty, I’m lookin’ pretty in my dress _

The next morning, you woke up next to John. Your dinner date went well, and you brought him back to your apartment for more of what you called “making up for lost time.” You gazed at his sleeping face and wondered at your own heart. How quickly this man had softened you. You couldn’t help pressing your lips to his chest. But when you got close to him, you noticed that he was hard. You stifled a giggle and then gently nudged his chest. 

“John,” you said. “John, wake up.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “What is it, love?”

“Can I touch you?” you asked sweetly. 

“Fuck, yeah, of course,” he said. 

You sat up, straddling him across his legs. You brought your hand to his cock and just stroked it with your finger, looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes. You kissed his chest again. Softly, you nipped at his collar bone before trailing down to his tummy. Your tongue flicked out at the places that made him moan. When you reached his hips, you wrapped your hand around his shaft and he arched up with a soft gasp. 

You never understood what men loved so much about fucking a woman’s mouth. You understood even less why women willingly gave men head. It brought them no pleasure. For the first time in your life, you willingly took a man’s tip past your lips. The beautiful little whine that came out of John’s mouth made it make sense. The knowledge that you made him feel this good was incredibly hot. You rubbed your thighs together for some friction. 

You lowered your mouth onto him, taking him all the way down until his tip hit the back of your throat. You hummed around him and he whined, holding himself back from bucking up. He had no idea how grateful you were for his allowing you control in this situation. You bobbed up and down, taking his cock as deep as possible with every stroke. 

“Fucking Christ, Y/N,” he sighed. “Your mouth is incredible.”

You didn’t answer, but kept going. You couldn’t believe what giving him this kind of pleasure was also doing to you. The sounds me made, the way he looked with his head thrown back and mouth hanging open...it was sexy as hell. 

You reached up to massage his balls and he couldn’t stop his hips from jumping at the contact. He apologized, but you waved him down. You continued. He finally pulled you off him because he was so close. 

“S’okay,” you said. “I want to finish you off with my mouth.”

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned. 

You smirked before taking him down again. You went a little faster now, eager to get him there. His chest became as flushed as his cheeks. 

“Ah - Y/N - I’m -” 

He didn’t need to finish his sentence, as he released inside you. You swallowed as you worked his cock through his high. He panted beneath you. You came up with a soft pop and showed him your empty mouth. 

“Oh, God,” he shuddered. “You’re so sexy.”

“That was fun,” you said with a smile. “You got so worked up.”

“It felt good,” he returned simply. 

“I never understood before why blowjobs were fun,” you told him.

He just looked quizzically up at you. 

“Never mind,” you said, shaking your head. 

He didn’t press you, which you appreciated. You didn’t want to talk about that now anyway. Without warning, he gripped you by the hips and flipped you over. You yelped with surprise. 

“What are you doing?” you wondered. 

“Returning the favor,” he said. 

He kissed your lower tummy, exploring your skin and making you giggle. Then he turned his attention to your thighs. You rocked your hips up toward him impatiently. 

“Relax,” he said. 

“I didn’t tease you like that,” you reminded him. 

“Never said I was playing far,” he shot back. 

Even so, he finally licked a stripe up your slit, making your hand jump to his hair. He swirled his tongue around your clit and you sucked in a breath. Your heels dug into the mattress as he built up speed. Then he lined up his fingers with your entrance. 

“So wet already,” he said. “You enjoyed sucking me off that much?”

“Shut up,” you groaned. 

He chuckled and returned his mouth to your throbbing clit. He pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them perfectly. It was almost overwhelming how good he made you feel. No one had ever gotten you this aroused before. You couldn’t even get this hot on your own. John brought out something primal in you that made you just melt to his touch. He knew what the fuck he was doing and did it well. Your toes curled as heat spread through you. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. 

You looked down and met his gaze. His pupils were blown wide with lust, but adoration lingered behind it. He kissed your clit as he maintained eye contact and you nearly finished from that.

“John, please,” you whined. 

“Don’t hold back for me, Y/N,” he said. “Fucking cum if you need to.”

“Faster,” you instructed. 

He obeyed. He devoured you like a starved man as his fingers pumped in and out at an almost brutal pace. Your mouth fell open and you began writhing beneath him. 

“John - John - oh - fuck!” you cried. 

“Like I said, cum when you’re ready,” he told you again. 

“Close,” you sobbed. 

Your orgasm washed over you, your body jerking as is wracked through your muscles. John let you ride it out on his face. When you stilled, he crawled back over you, kissing you deeply. You tasted yourself on him. 

“You want to keep going?” he asked. “I could get it up again if you want.”

You shook your head. “After yesterday, last night, and now I can’t take anymore.”

“Alright, love,” he said, settling beside you and pulling you under his arm to spoon. 

“Don’t you have to be at the studio?” you wondered. 

“We can lay here a while longer,” he assured you. “I don’t…” he trailed off.

You turned your head to look at him. “What?”

“I don’t want you to ever again feel like I’m abandoning you,” he said sheepishly. “Even for the small stuff.”

“Oh, John,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

When you did go to the studio, you arrived together, hand in hand. Roger, Brian, and Freddie looked at your hands, then your faces, and back again. 

“What’s this?” Freddie asked. 

“We got reacquainted,” John said. 

You beamed. 

“Who is this?” Roger questioned, looking at you. “A smile? Who are you and what have you done with the real Y/N Y/L/N?” 

“The real Y/N Y/L/N is whoever I want her to be,” you said. “I’ll still call you a pixie, Taylor. I’ll just smile while I do it.”

“That sounds more like it,” he returned with a smirk. 

“Well, Y/N, what are you doing here?” Brian asked. “I mean, you were fired.”

You explained to them what you told John. You were going to write the article as a freelance writer. You were certain another magazine would be interested. 

“And what is this article going to say?” Freddie wondered. 

“You’ll have to wait and find out,” you said. “It’s not ethical to let your subjects read the piece before it’s published.”

“It’s also not ethical to fuck your sources,” Roger pointed out, grinning. 

You and John exchanged shocked looks. 

“You weren’t exactly quiet,” Brian said. 

Your face went bright red as Freddie laughed. Before long, you were all laughing with him. It was rather funny. 

As they prepared for their day, you took out your paper and pen again. You weren’t sure exactly what you were going to say about Queen after seeing what they did. You weren’t sure how you could convey their style and friendship. You weren’t sure you could get it all in one article. But you knew you would somehow. There had to be words to describe Queen. 

That night, Freddie hosted a party at his house and invited you to attend. You told John you would meet him there, since you weren’t sure who else was going to be there and you still had to pitch the article. 

As you got ready in your room, throwing on a beautiful red dress with some strappy heels, you became a bit nervous. You wondered if Charles had told others in the industry about what happened. But you didn’t know how you came out of it looking like the bad guy if he told the truth. That was the hang up. Had he told the truth?

You decided firmly to forget about that and just have a good time tonight. What would come, would come. You had faced much worse and stayed strong. You could do so now.

When you arrived at Freddie’s, he answered the door. He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek before leading you inside to meet some of his other friends. It was crowded, which made you nervous, but you kept your eyes peeled for John. When you entered the living room, you spotted him. His smile faltered as he saw you in your dress. You couldn’t help but smirk.

He walked over, a hungry look in his eye. “You look incredible.”

“Thank you,” you said with a grin.

He kissed your cheek. Your skin lit up at his touch.

“The dress looks great, but I really can’t wait to take it off you,” he whispered in your ear.

You shivered as you took his hand. Roger approached, so John just slipped an arm around your waist and faced his friend.

“Wow, Y/N,” Roger said. “You clean up nice.”

“You too, Rog,” you returned. 

You chatted and mingled for the night. The whole time, John was at your side, with a hand on you. Whether it was your waist, your back, your arm - it didn’t matter. You felt him there with you. Reassuring and safe.

You went back to your place afterward, unable to keep your hands off of each other. By the time you were through the door, your dress was halfway off and John’s shirt was undone. Your mouths crashed together as your hands roamed each other’s bodies. Then he pulled away.

“Y/N, hold on,” he said. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at him. “What is it?”

“What do you want from this?” he asked.

“What?”

“I love what we’re doing,” he said. “I’m just wondering if it’s...more than it is.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Are we in a relationship?” he asked outright.

He was suddenly the John from home. Unsure, but hopeful. You vividly recalled the day he first asked you to be his girlfriend. He was so shy and a bit awkward. You were so endeared by him. You felt that again as he looked at you now. Overwhelmingly, you wanted to be his again. 

“I know I hurt you before,” he said. “So I understand if you’re hesitant, but -”

You cut him off with a sweet kiss. 

“John, if I didn’t want to be with you, I wouldn’t,” you said. “As it is, I do. So, if a relationship is what you want, then that’s what I want too.”

His smile was like sunshine. You could have melted into a puddle right there. Then, of course, he absolutely ravished you.

**Two weeks later**

“Have you all seen this?” Roger wondered as he entered the studio, carrying a fresh magazine.

“Y/N’s article came out?” Brian asked.

Roger nodded.

“How’d she do?” Freddie questioned.

“Listen,” Roger began. “‘ _ Queen is a unique band made up of unique individuals. Their differences work together to create some of the most cohesive work in rock music. No matter the year or the style, Queen sounds like Queen. And not just because of frontman Freddie Mercury’s unmistakable and outstanding voice. The work of guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon are vital parts a body of work that is more than signature. It’s a fingerprint. All of this is made possible by the professionalism and hard work of one of the greatest rock bands I have had the pleasure of seeing in action _ .’ She goes on, of course.”

Brian took the article and scanned it. “She really is a great writer.”

“I’m just glad she’s on our side now,” Freddie said. “What do you think, Deaky?”

John shrugged. “What can I say, I’m proud of her. That’s my girl.”


End file.
